Rules of Dating as Dictated by Vaughn & Weiss
by Dream Writer 4 Life
Summary: Vaughn and Weiss give the male of the species advice on dating from their perspective. Cover Me 4-03 Challenge. A Dream Writer Experience.


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Title: The Rules of Dating as Dictated by Michael Vaughn and Eric Weiss

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Author: Dream Writer 4 Life

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Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual innuendo, and all-around maturity

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Genre: MAJOR humour/romance

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Archived: FanFiction.Net, Hopes 'N Dreams 'R Us, Cover Me. Anywhere else, ask and you shall receive!

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'Shipper's Paradise: S/V baby! Plus a little implied J/I and Weiss/OC.

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Spoilers/Timeline: Anything through S2.14: Double Agent is fair game, but it's an AU piece.

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Summary: Title is self-explanatory. Vaughn and Weiss give the male of the species advice on dating from their perspective. Possibly a few cameos. A Dream Writer Experience. Cover Me 4/03 Challenge.

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Disclaimer: Wow, there's a lot to go here: Lucky Larry's Laundromat (although, maybe I do…hmm…), the song played before the Bull's games when they were actually good (see Vaughn's line: "Are you ready to rumble"; don't know the name), Fear Factor, "No Scrubs" by TLC, "Ordinary Day" by Vanessa Carlton, the DMV, Hugh Heffner/Playboy Magazines, "In the Club" by 50 Cent…but I DO OWN "MAKIN' BREAKFAST"! Steal it without disclaimer-ing and face my wrath!

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Author's Note: I truly and honestly believe that a fic like this has never been written in any fan fiction domain. I'll give you a huge warning — and this is where people who skip over Author's Notes miss out: this story is written in first person POV, but it has different people talking in first person; it's more like a conversation without quotation marks, dialogue tags, or movement. A different font (or markings) represents a different speaker. I'm not going to tell you which font is which character, and if you can't figure it out, I suggest you leave. Oh, and flames will be used to cook brownie points for the people who leave nice, constructive reviews. PLEASE review! Constructive criticism is da bombiest! 

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Author's Note 2: I almost forgot! Props to Kevin, Bex, Bridget, and Chris Kane for helpin' me out with the rules: I _know_ I should have asked Dieter and Keith, but they kept running away from me. Enjoy! And review like mad!

The Rules of Dating as Dictated by Michael Vaughn and Eric Weiss

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Hey guys! Welcome to our humble abode! Well, it's not so much 'ours' as this woman's and we're only renting it out, but that's not my point. I am one of your guides, a fearless leader (except against spiders: those things creep me out), a dating god among pathetic losers! My name is…Eric Weiss! (Imagine majestic fanfare here.) And with me is my esteemed colleague, another fearless leader (especially against spiders), and a not-quite-so-much-ladies'-as-gay-men man! (I swear, he gets hit on more times by gay men than a Justin Timberlake porno site.) Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Michael Vaughn! Mike? Hey Mikey! Where are ya, buddy? Oh, come on, don't be a sore loser! All right, so you lost the bet. That doesn't mean you have to spoil the fun for me!

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Oh yes it does.

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There you are! I thought that maybe Syd showed up and you just jumped her then and there.

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Shut up, asshole.

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Ooh. Feisty, are we? Come on. Put aside your hurt feelings and help a friend out.

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Friend? What friend? All I see is a pathetic loser who hasn't gotten any in a while and is suffering from an about-to-be-fatal case of sexual exasperation.

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Okay, now that hurt.

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It was supposed to, dumb ass.

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That's it! You're helping me with this, or I'm telling Syd about your little 'problem' from a few months ago. You have no choice now.

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Look, I have no idea how you know about that, but you can't hold that over my head.

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All right. I guess I'll just have to tell our wonderful audience, here. See, a few months ago, near the end of his relationship with Alice, they were fooling around and Mike couldn't get—

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Okay, okay. I'll help. What the hell are we doing?

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Well, my wonderfully willing friend, we are going to give advice on dating to all of mankind! The males of the species need our help — especially mine — on how to give the ladies what they want. And we're here to give it to them.

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You're kidding, right?

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No. Why?

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You are giving advice to people? About dating? You, the bachelor who hasn't had a girlfriend, gotten laid, or even gone on a date in…how long now? Do you know how crazy that sounds?

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Hey! Let's leave my sexual inactivity out of this, please.

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Fine. If you never mention my 'problem' again to anyone, especially in public.

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Deal.

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All right. Now that I'm doing this, I better do this right. Hello, everyone. I'm Michael Vaughn, one of Weiss's two friends, the other being his dog. I am here against my will: I lost a stupid bet that Jack wouldn't screw Irina by the time Sloane was captured. (Let's just say that I will never look at Jack the same way again…Ick…) Now I have to give you people advice on dating, which I've never been really good at until Syd. So I'm gonna do my best, and I promise I won't allow Eric to corrupt your minds too much.

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Thanks, buddy.

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No problem.

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Now we're going to have to ask all the women in the audience to leave. That's right. You can retrieve your boyfriends at the exits after the session is done. Are they all gone? Okay men; you can let out your guts, undo your belts, and belch and fart as loudly and as many times as you'd like. Consider it your Last Gross Bodily Function, though, boys; you won't be doing it again for a very long time.

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Uh, Eric, why did we just kick out all the women? They were, like, the majority of our audience! What's the point now?

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What's the point? Dude, if they stayed, the entire world would know our secrets in less than thirty seconds! They have a Network, Mike, a n-e-t-w-o-r-k. That would be a complete disaster for males everywhere. The bar would be raised out of reach, and no one would be able to impress a woman ever again! You know, we weren't _all_ blessed with your dashing good looks. Some of us have to get by on our wit, charm, and pocketbooks.

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All of which are very tiny when applied to you.

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Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. Not. Can we please get on with this? I wanna finish before I get to be Hugh Heffner's age.

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What's wrong with Hugh Heffner? I thought he was one of your heroes.

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He is. He's always got, like, ten girls hanging off of him at any given moment. It's a guy's dream.

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You know why that is, don't you? The man's got an IV full of Viagra. Do you actually think all of those girls' breasts are real? They're just full of liquid Viagra and he sucks them whenever he needs a pick-me-up.

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Wait a second. How the hell do you know this?

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I have my ways.

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Okay, I don't want to know anymore. You can keep that to yourself.

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Damn straight.

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Anyways, on with the show!

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Show? I thought this was a book!

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Shut up, will you?

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Fine. The previews are over! It's time for your feature presentation! Are you ready to rumble?! Ba, da, da, da…

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Do the world a favour and stop singing. Why are you so…enthusiastic…all of a sudden?

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I don't know. I guess Syd's moodiness has worn off on me. Let's move on before it changes again.

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Yeah, we better finish before you become horny and call Syd.

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Shut up.

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To get back on topic, we'll go from first date to boyfriend/girlfriend relationship to oh-my-God-I'm-making-an-actual-commitment phase to…whatever happens after that. Maybe we'll throw in some general advice, too: you never know when you may need it.

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Like what? Change your oil every three years or three thousand miles?

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I'm going to ignore Mr. Sarcastic, here, and lead us to the first point. Ironically, Mr. Sarcastic has brought it up: sundry tasks are not dates.

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Whoo hoo. Sundry. That's a big word for you, Eric. Do you even know what it means?

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Yes, I do, thank you very much. It means 'miscellaneous'. Any other words you'd like to test me on? 'Cause if I knew there was going to be a test, Mr. Vaughn, I would have studied.

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How 'bout "fuck you—"

Hey, hey, now! Play nice, boys. No fighting unless it's of a sexual nature and I'm involved. 

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Excuse me?

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Who the hell are you?

Just your friendly Dream Writer 4 Life. 

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What's a 'Dream Writer'?

Sigh. I give up. Just…stick to the plot, okay? I've had enough of y'all's bickering. Don't make me talk again. I don't like putting myself into these situations. 

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Huh?

That's it. I'm leaving. 

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Yeah, you better! You're a woman, too! How'd she get in here? Isn't there security around here?

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Nah, we couldn't afford it.

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Wow. We're cheap.

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We're men. What do you expect?

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Anyway. What were we talking about? Oh, that's right: sundry tasks. Why do you bring those up, Eric?

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Good question, Mike. What with the copious (shut up) amount of dates I've been on, I know where girls like to go and not go. And believe me, changing oil or painting a wall is not their idea of fun. See, girls don't like to get their hands dirty much; they might break a nail or get their hair messed up or smear their mascara—

Hey now! Back off, buddy! 

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What the hell? I thought you left!

Do you really think that I would leave you two alone for long? Do you know how much trouble I'd be in? I don't see how the CIA can let you guys actually go on _missions_ together without mature parental supervision. I mean, Syd's there most of the time, but she's usually getting shot at or bending over backwards saving one of y'all's asses. 

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How do you know Syd?

Wouldn't you like to know? 

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Are you from the South?

No. Midwest. Why? 

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For being from the Midwest, you sure use "y'all" a lot.

Do you have a problem with that? 

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No.

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No.

Good. 'Cause if you did, I'd have to fine a way to kill one of you off. 

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Hey, you don't control us.

Ha. That's what you think. 

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Okay, are you leaving yet? 'Cause we are doing something here. Or at least we're trying to.

Yeah, I'll pull a Sloane and disappear, only to resurface from time to time with cryptic messages of warning. Tootles…for now. Muah ha, ha, ha! 

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Wow. She's weird.

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I agree. What's our next point?

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Ooh, how about this one. We probably should have started out with it because even Mr. Smooth over here seems to have had trouble with it—

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Eric, if this is about my 'problem' again, I really don't want to hear it—

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No, Mike. Just hear me out. Rule number two: don't date two girls at once because you'll end up being _played_ not the _player_.

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Oh shit.

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That's right, Michael. We're going to bring up—

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Alice.

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Correct! Ten points! For extra credit, care to enlighten us on why dating one woman while in love with another isn't exactly a good thing to do?

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Fine. But I swear I felt nothing for Alice after I met Sydney Bristow! If you're listening or reading or whatever, Dream Scriber…

It's Dream Writer 4 Life. And yes, both Syd and I know. Now continue with your point. 

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Yeah. Good. Anyways, it's a ton of unnecessary stress on you—

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—And your friends—

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—And your friends if you go out with too many women at once. And if you get at all confused, Heaven save you because nothing else will. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. If you really want to continue seeing both girls at the same time, then make sure that you're up front with each of them, say you're just testing the water and not looking for anything serious at the moment. But if you want some higher level of commitment (and are still seeing more than one woman) then you need your head checked because you are seriously ill. Or Mormon.

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Amen, brotha, amen!

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Never say that again.

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You got it. Well, now that we've got the basics out of the way, we'll move on to the first date and/or dating in general. (Because we all know that men can screw up a date whether it's the second or twenty-second.) We'll start at the beginning of the date.

The third rule has to do with transportation to and from the date. When it comes to this, you have three choices: take her car (and you'll be forever known as a mooch), take your car (and pick her up, of course), take separate cars (which could be seen as not wanting to spend time with her), or screw cars all together and opt for public transportation. The best choice — according to your two humble experts — is to take separate cars or take _your_ car! Now, I can hear every man out there saying, "But Eric! Why should we waste our precious gas and energy cleaning up our landfill of a car just so that I can get her to a date?" Well, I believe Mike has the answer to that question…

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So you have absolutely no chance of getting left somewhere or getting shoved out of the car in the middle of nowhere.

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I believe I sense some hostility towards this subject.

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And you would be correct. Okay! Moving on…

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Oh, no you don't! Come on, you have to tell us what happened! Your past stupidity can only benefit future generations of women-pleasers.

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Sigh. Fine, I'll tell you. See, when I was about twenty years old, I was visiting Aunt Trish in France. She had set me up with a native girl from the next town, and we went out to this one sports bar, which happened to be the only place to go in The Middle of Nowhere—

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That's the actual name of the town?

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Well, it's a rough translation. Anyway, I guess I paid more attention to the fifteen TVs on the wall than to her, because when we got into her car to go back home, she was fuming. While driving down The Most Deserted Highway on Earth—

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That's what it's called?

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Shut up, Eric! While we were driving down this road, she all of a sudden reaches over me, opens my door, and literally pushes me out of the car! While we were still moving! And then she just sped away. Needless to say, I never saw her again.

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Wow. That was really, incredibly stupid, Mike. Watching sports instead of talking to your date?! How insensitive can you be?

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No need to rub it in. I've made my mistakes and learned from them.

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I sure hope so. If you ever did that to Syd, I'm pretty sure she'd do more than just push you out of a moving vehicle. I mean, she's the daughter of Jack Bristow, for cryin' out loud! He's probably got every torture device known to man locked in his basement, and all she needs to do is say the word and you're strapped to a gurney facing a needle full of poison or a saw about to cut you in half from your head down to your—

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And thank you, Weiss, for that absolutely WONDERFUL visual! What is our next point? Before I split you in half or cut off your balls so I can feed them to my dog.

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You would feed a guy's balls to your dog? That's just sick, Mike. That's just sick. That's, like, Fear Factor sick.

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Can we move on now?

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Yeah, I guess so. You actually brought up our next point. A guy must bring extra clothes when going on a date.

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Why is that, Eric? Because girls are easy and they always give out on the first night?

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Absolutely not, Michael! How can you even think that? We're supposed to be _helping_ me, not enforcing negative stereotypes!

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But! I was just—

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I know! Shush! Mike was perfectly illustrating the progression of a normal guy's thoughts. Work hard to suppress that urge from now on. One must bring extra clothes for the mere reason that you just might be abandoned by the side of the highway like Vaughn, here. Did _you_ have spare clothing with you, Mike?

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No.

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And did you regret it?

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Yeah! It took me an entire day trying to hitch a ride from French hicks—

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There are French hicks?

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Apparently. Anyway, it took an entire day and night to reach the nearest town and call for a ride home.

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Yeah, that sucks. See, gentlemen? Example A proving the point that you should always carry spare clothes in case of such an emergency. I would give you more examples, but then I would just be pulling stuff out of my ass. I've never been in this particular situation _because I'm not a dumb ass like Vaughn!_ I know how to treat my women right!

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If you knew anything about women you'd know that they don't like being treated like property. Let me dumb it down for you: **they are not your women to own!** Never say that they are; it's a major turn-off.

And so are two men using perfectly good energy towards fighting. Now shut up and get back to the point. 

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Yes sir.

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Yes **ma'am**. Well, since Eric has gotten most of the proverbial action so far, I think I will introduce the next rule.

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Whoa, gettin' a little gutsy, aren't we? Where'd you steal _those_ balls from, huh Mike? Your dog's food dish?

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Shut up and let me talk, all right? Now, you're getting to the end of a date, you're ready to go home, and the waiter brings along the check. Who's going to pick up the tab? If you answered that you, my male and deep-pocketed friend, will pay for the evening, then you are correct! Agent Weiss, tell them what they've won!

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A lifetime of paying for everything, even when she says that you'll go Dutch and split the tab, 'cause she doesn't really mean it because you'll then be automatically in her good graces for at least the rest of the night. The smile she gives you should be reward enough for you.

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Yes. Women like it when you take them out places and especially when you pay for everything. They even consider it a form of foreplay. But seriously, paying makes you seem like a kind and caring individual even if you're not, and may even incite her to ask you out again, despite the date being an entire disaster. Plus, extra cash can always come in handy if you get pushed out of the car to the side of the highway and have to result to sexual favours to pay for rides—

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Hold up! Stop right there! That is _way_ too much information, there, my friend. We did not need to know that!

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Sorry. My bad.

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But you do make a good point. The ladies like a guy with cash. Remember that one song—"No Scrubs" by TLC? That's, like, _the_ anthem for women. "A scrub is a guy that thinks he's a fly and is also known as a bus stop. 'Cause I'm lookin' like glass and he's lookin' like trash. Can't get with no deadbeat ass. So, no, I don't want your number, no—"

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Please, please! For the love of God, please stop! Those aren't even the right words!

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Sheesh. You don't have to be so rude about it. I mean, I know I'm not the best singer in the world, but you don't have to rub it in my face like that.

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Shut up, Eric.

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Gotcha. Do you want to introduce the next rule or should I?

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You know what? I think I'll introduce it and you'll tell the story behind it, okay?

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Oh no. You don't mean—

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Oh yeah. That one.

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Possibly the biggest mistake I've ever made.

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Maybe not, but it's pretty damn close.

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So…Get on with it, already. Let the torture begin.

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Nah. I don't feel like it just yet.

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You just love torturing me, don't you? You're enjoying this immensely.

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In a word, yes.

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Smugness isn't a good colour on you.

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That's not a colour! Even I know that!

Would y'all quite stalling! I've used up nine notebook pages so far and you've only gone over five rules. Five! That's amazing! 

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Nine pages? Isn't that a bit much?

It's a small notebook. 

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But still…man, you must make a _lot_ of mistakes!

Want to live to see another lay? 

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Buttoning my pie-hole now.

That's what I thought. NOW GET BACK TO WORK! 

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Yes ma'am. Say your date has just ended, you've driven her to her neighbourhood (in your car) and as close to her apartment as possible. As you're sitting in the car, you start to wonder whether to walk her the two blocks to her apartment…or just drop her at the curb and speed off like a bat out of Hell. Which brings us to rule number six: always walk her home. No matter how far away, the terrain/weather, or the fact that you absolutely detest the woman, it is considered poor form to not walk her to the door. Because of the aforementioned "women's network," the rest of the females of the world will know if you didn't before you even get back to your car, forever branding you a Horrible, Despicable Man Without a Decent Bone in His Body. Weiss would know a little something about this, wouldn't he?

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Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up. I'll tell the story. Well, I was out with this one girl, and she lived in the very centre of the city so it was really hard trying to find a parking space. In the end, I gave up and just let her get out on the street corner, and I drove away without a second thought. Later, I found out that she had to walk the ten blocks _alone_ back to her apartment. And while she was taking a shortcut down this dark alleyway, she was mugged by a drug dealer and was left for dead. But it worked out after all: the medic that brought her back to the hospital ended up being her long-lost brother, and she ended up marrying her doctor. So always walk your date home, 'cause the alternative could backfire. The end.

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Wow. That is some crazy shit.

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You said it, brother.

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Well, that pretty much concludes rule six.

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(Thank you, God.)

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And I believe that Vaughn would like to hand over the Emcee duties to Weiss for a while; Vaughn has a story about the next rule.

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Why is Vaughn talking in the third person?

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Because Vaughn is the most specialist person in the world and deserves to be referred to as such.

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There are too many ways to twist that, so I'm not going to even touch it. Instead, imagine this: you made the right decision and have walked her home, warranting a second/more date(s). After a while, she _will_ want to hang out at your place. Hey, when's Syd gonna see your place? So far you've only been mooching off of her; when do we get to see the infamous Vaughn Bachelor Pad?

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Never! Muah ha, ha, ha! No, seriously, I have no idea why we haven't — ahem — slept over at my apartment. You know, the more I think about this arrangement, the more it doesn't make sense: there are three CIA employees (one of them a former double agent) residing under one roof. How incredibly stupid is that?! But I guess it could also work the other way, too; if Sloane were still tailing Syd, he would know where I live. But the only time I'm there is to feed Donovan…Oh God! Not Donny! Sloane can't kill my Donny!

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Get a hold of yourself, man! Sorry. I just wanted an excuse to slap you. Don't get turned on, now; I love ya and everything, just not in that way. Before Miss Perfect/I Control Your Lives interjects with a not-so-friendly reminder to get on with the point, I will attempt to get us back on track. Her visit to your place brings us to rule number seven: _clean up the damn pad already!_ Women don't like a mess: you should know that by now. They're not going to enjoy crusted dishes in the sink and rotting food in the refrigerator as much as you, nor a pile of dirty laundry as tall as Mount Everest on the floor of your bedroom!

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Now **I'm** sensing some hostility.

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I just can't stand it when the women complain about a messy apartment. Don't these guys ever learn?

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I hate to point this out, but your apartment could qualify as a federal disaster area.

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Well, they didn't have to know that.

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Sorry.

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So you wanna tell your damn story or what?

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Oh yeah! That. Okay. Are you ready, 'cause you're going to laugh your ass off when you hear this story! Seriously it's, like, the funniest thing you will ever hear in your entire life!

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Get on with it before I either bring up your 'problem' again or drag in Miss Dream Life Writer or whatever—

Dear God! It's Dream Writer 4 Life! Is it really _that_ hard to remember? Sheesh. You two must have the worst memories in the world. How the hell did you get into the CIA? 

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Honestly, we have no idea. It was probably a fluke or paperwork mix-up.

Whatever. Just…just _please_ get back to the point. 

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Yay! My story!

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Yay.

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Well, anyways, Syd told me once about a "dating" experience that Jack had.

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"Dating"? What's with the quotes? And Jack dates?

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It wasn't really a date because it was with Irina Derevko. She said she would only cooperate on something if she were allowed to converse with someone outside of the CIA building. I guess Kendall trusted Jack more than Sydney, 'cause he actually let him take Derevko out. Anyway, so Jack takes her back to his place — which was thoroughly bugged specifically for this purpose—

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Where exactly does Jack live? Is it an apartment, condo, house, townhouse, houseboat, cardboard box? What? I'm serious here!

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You interrupted my **hilarious** story to ask a stupid question like that?

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It's not stupid! I really want to know!

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Well, I have no idea. I'm not even sure that Syd knows, herself.

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Damn. Where do you think I could find that information? Do you think the DMV would know where he lives? Of course, they seem to know everything there; I mean, they helped Kane's operatives find you. Yeah, tomorrow I'll get someone to hack into the DMV for me or something.

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Wow. Obsess much? Continuing on with **my** story: Jack took Derevko back to his place to "talk". Now, I say "talk" because the only person who knows what they actually did in there is the person who watched those tapes. But what we do know is that Derevko found Jack's "medicine" walk-in pantry. There were chemicals in there, Eric: real, palpable chemicals organized by affect and potency. Apparently she found a few vials of sodium pentothal missing (a few, not just one, a few) and brought it to his attention. He looked panicked until she found them on **the coffee table**. The coffee table, for cryin' out loud! Some unsuspecting person could have just walked in there, picked up a vial, and walked out and he probably wouldn't have known the difference! **Irina** could have pocketed it. When she called Jack on it, he blushed fiercely and called off the little visitation.

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And how the hell do you know all of this?

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Derevko told Syd and Syd told me. How else would I find out? Did you think I actually talked with Jack Bristow alone without a gun pointed in my face or him tossing around a threat on my life? Yeah right!

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Uh, yeah. Anyways, that just goes to show that you should clean up your place before inviting a woman over. In Jack's case, that means filing away your stash of sodium pentothal; if you're a regular Joe Shmoe, it means that you've gotta hide the Playboys in a better place than under your bed or in the nightstand.

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Here's a thought: what if Jack had Playboys to hide?

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Oh God. That just brings up too many issues that I do not want to deal with. And here come the mental pictures! Dear Lord! Tell them to stop! Put it away, put it away!

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Stop being so melodramatic.

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Fine. Let's move on to rule number eight. Okay, now you're dating and seeing each other on a regular basis. You think you know how she's gonna react to pretty much anything (except during PMS, but that's a whole 'nother story altogether). So you think you can tell her the truth about how she looks, including her hair, make-up, and clothes. But you can't. You really can't. Which is rule number eight: never tell her what she _really_ looks like in That Dress; the outcome is never favourable for the male in the conversation.

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I agree. Alice was pretty bad when we were going out. She'd take an hour to pick out an outfit then another two to do her hair and make-up. And she would always ask stupid questions. "Does this dress make me look fat? Is my hair even? Does this eyeliner make me look like a New York model or a Los Angeles model?" Honestly! What's the difference?

Oh, there's a difference, alright. New York models look like club-hopping sluts and Los Angeles models look like ditzy hippies with a bad tan.

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Syd? What the hell are you doing here?

I invited her. Thought that maybe she'd like to get in on the action a little bit. 

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But I thought that this was supposed to be an all-guy dealy! What's with the numbers being evened? We are supposed to be in charge! _We_, the males, not I, the females! Just one woman can out-talk us one hundred to one! And she — she can kick out asses with her pinky finger! That's not fair! She could threaten us and we'd have to do and say whatever she wanted us to! That's influence! That's commercialism! That's _woman brainwashing!_

That's life. Deal with it. Now shut up and let Syd put her two cents in once in a while; women aren't as stupid and ignorant of Your Ways as you think. And Vaughn, try to resist the urge to jump her here and now: there's a bathroom in the next room with the appropriate facilities if you're in need of a cold shower…Aw, Syd! He's blushing! You're right: he does get cuter when you embarrass him. 

See, I told you.

Don't have too much fun with them, now. I want them returned in relatively good condition. 

Gotcha. So, boys, what're we talking about? Oh, come on! Don't give me the silent treatment just because I'm a woman! You can talk about the Rules still; I swear I won't tell anyone. Plus, we probably already know all of your little laws, anyway.

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Who's we? Who else do you have stashed under your coat or behind your back?

No one, you paranoid Man.

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I believe she is referring to all Female Kind.

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The network thing?

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The network thing.

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Sigh.

So, what's the next rule? I think you've pretty much exhausted number eight.

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No we haven't—

Yes, you have.

****

See! That's what I mean! Brainwashing! Evil! Evil woman!

Oh, get over yourself.

Unless you want to find yourself suddenly dick-less and in the middle of the Sahara without any clothes on, I suggest y'all get back to the rules. 

__

Which brings us to rule number nine:

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Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

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Why are you looking at your science notes from sixth grade? What does Boyle's Law have to do with what we're talking about?

****

That's not Boyle's Law; it's Newton's Third Law of Motion, you idiot. And it does have something to do with dating. You gotta listen closely: _every action has an equal and opposite reaction_. In other words, give a little and you just might get a little, if you know what I'm sayin'.

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Oh! Ah, ha, ha, ha! That's a good one! You are a very smart man, Agent Weiss.

****

Why, thank you, Agent Vaughn.

And it's completely true, too. If a guy's nice to a woman and does things for her, she's definitely more prone to…reciprocate accordingly in an appropriate manner. If he holds the door then he might get a smile; if he pays attention to her and talks about something other than hockey, he just might be invited inside to do the nasty, the horizontal tango, to make some whoopie, to make some breakfast! I mean, one time Vaughn and I were out and—

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I'm right here!

Sorry, sweetie. I know that you don't like to tell people that we have sex, but I was proving a point. By the by, it was a nice point, Weiss; I'm proud of you.

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Thank you, Sydney. And by the way…makin' breaking? What is that about?

It's a euphemism. For having sex. You know, when a man loves a woman very much—

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Shut up. I may not have gotten any in a while, but I still know what sex is. Before we get into that again, let's move on to rule number ten.

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Hey! We're in double digits! Yay!

****

Anyway, why don't you introduce the next tidbit of advice? Even though it's absolutely nothing that you know about.

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If Syd weren't here, you would be **so** dead right now.

I don't care. What's stopping you?

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Both of you just shut up! Continuing on to rule number ten, which happens to coincide with number nine. If you did nothing to deserve getting some action, then don't force it; the actual title of the rule is **don't be an eager beaver**, which is also known as a teenage boy.

I couldn't agree with you more. Guys that are just all over you every few seconds completely turn you off. I can't tell you how many guys I've had to literally kick to the curb or mace 'til the bottle ran out. And I'm not only talking about missions.

****

That's actually rule number eleven! Prepare to be maced, boys, if you decide to vigorously pursue a woman. Believe me, _every_ woman carries at least one can of mace or pepper spray everywhere she goes, even to the laundromat! Sheesh.

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Aw, did Eric try to pick up chicks at Lucky Larry's Laundromat again? I told you: that place is in a bad neighbourhood and all you're gonna pick up there is a stab wound to go along with your gunshot wound.

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But dude, you live there.

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Exactly. So, again, I'm warning you: don't be an eager beaver or you'll be maced…And as I say that, Eric starts humping the azaleas. Weiss, I told you! At least wait until you get home to your trusty blow-up doll!

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Hey! At least I'm not as bad as you when Syd wasn't screwing you! Jeez, you looked like you wanted to jump anything that moved.

I'm right here! I _did not_ need to know that!

****

Eh, it happens. Moving on…One of the best pieces of advice that your excellent experts can expend is rule number twelve: give gifts for no apparent reason. You never know when you could be missing some sort of anniversary or obscure holiday that calls for giving gifts. Plus, you never know when a "thoughtful" present could get you out of the doghouse.

Speaking of which…Where's my present, Vaughn?

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Huh? What present?

You mean, you didn't get me anything?

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Was I supposed to? For what?

Oh, my gosh! I can't believe you don't remember! How insensitive can you be? This hurts, Mike, this hurts.

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I'm so confused! What the hell are you talking about?

Well, if you don't know I'm not going to tell you.

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No, no, no, no, no! Syd, don't cry. Oh God. Um…I'm sorry? I love you? Marry me?

Ha, ha! Got ya! I'm just playin' with ya, just messin' with your head. Today's just a day. "Just a day, just a day, just an ordinary day—"

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What! But—! You! Evil woman! **Evil woman!** Stop getting inside my head!

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Bet you'd still like to get your head inside of her! Bang! Kapow! Ooh, that's gotta hurt! Go Weiss, it's your birthday! We gonna party like it's your birthday!

Ew, that's a gross use of sexual innuendo, and you're done. Stop singing, _please_. I think my ears are bleeding.

****

Still…Syd, that was pretty mean. The shameless berating and teasing of an unsuspecting and basically innocent man is just plain mean.

Oh, shut up. You are, like, twenty times worse than I am. Half the time you're like a freakin' _yenta_ and the other half you're a pervert…That's what I thought. Why don't we move on to lucky number thirteen?

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Yes. Why don't we? I think Vaughn should introduce this one; he's _very_ good at doing it to the best of his ability.

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What? Huh? Is this Pick on Vaughn Day and no one told me?

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No, that's tomorrow. We're just getting ready.

Fine, I'll do the intro.

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Wait a second. How the hell do you know what the rule is?

Becky told me.

****

Wait a second. Who's Becky?

Oh yeah. You guys know her as Dream Writer 4 Life. We're on a more personal basis, so I have the inside scoop.

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So she's been lying to us the entire time. Huh. What a bitch. After all that time trying to commit that name to memory…Stupid Dream Conveyor—

Dear Lord! It's Dream Writer 4 Life! If I would've known that you could actually remember "Becky" I would have said "Becky". Now will you shut up and let the woman talk?! 

Thank you. Well, over the better part of two years, I have done my fair share of complaining; you could almost say it's one of my fortes. Most of my rants have been directed towards Agent Michael Vaughn, and I must say he has been pretty damn good at handling them. See, what he does is he _listens_. Smart, huh? That happens to be part of rule thirteen: wait 'til she's done complaining to say anything. Besides being a good strategy for avoiding the doghouse, it could get you in her good graces, even if what you say _after_ her rant isn't exactly what she wanted to hear: the fact that you waited to share it is cool enough. Well, I think that's about it.

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Yeah. I guess.

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Eh. I thought it was a little girly and emotional to be a rule for real, manly men.

Oh really? Well then. You know what I think? I think that this — us — isn't working. It's over, Michael.

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What? Huh?

I don't think we're in the same place in our lives right now.

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Oh, I'm confused. Are you seriously breaking up with me?

Yes.

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But I didn't do anything wrong!

It's not you, it's me. I have some issues that I have to work through before I commit to a serious relationship.

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Uh, I guess that's cool, Syd. I'll give you all the space you need. I'll wait for you as long as it takes.

Ha, ha! Gotcha again! I'm not breaking up with you, just illustrating our next rule. Rule number fourteen is when she says, "It's not you, it's me," it's always you. No questions asked…Okay, I'm serious now, Vaughn; I was just joking about breaking up with you. I'm sorry? I love you? Marry me?

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You know, I should be mad at you, but for the sake of our audience I won't be.

****

There is not an angry bone (or a backbone for that matter) in your body, is there?

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Nope, not at all.

****

Uh huh. Well, okay! Now that the soap opera's over (I'm assuming), let's move on to rule number fifteen! After a breakup, you may start to regret some of those random gifts that you gave her, say a lock of hair, flask of blood, a sample of DNA. You have good reason to; you have violated this rule. The fifteenth rule is don't give gifts that could later be used for voodoo practices.

That is _so_ 2002! No one actually practices voodoo physically anymore; they either use the Internet or hire an assassin. Yep, women have gone high-tech and so have their methods of revenge.

****

Well then. Good to know.

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But don't think that you're off the hook, now, guys. There are a few old-fashioned girls out there ready to just nail it to you if you slip up. Don't give them the satisfaction: keep your bodily fluids, hair, and DNA to yourselves.

****

I agree. Well, it looks like we're at the end of the line, sweet sixteen. This is the absolute best advice that _anyone_ can give you on dating, no holds barred. It's the go-to rule for when you have absolutely no idea what to do in a certain situation and cannot possibly get a hold of either Mike or me. (Drum roll, please.) And rule number sixteen is…

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Do everything she says.

That's it?

****

Well, it's pretty straightforward.

That's not what I mean. What I meant was: that was it? That was your best advice? That's crap! Seriously, can't you two put your heads together and come up with something better than that?

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No.

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No.

No. 

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Hey! That girl's back again. Dream — Dream — Dream —

That's good. Sound it out. 

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Dream Writer 4 Life.

Finally! It's about freakin' time that somebody got my name right. 

****

And you're here…why?

Because it's just about the end and I figured I'd stick around to see it. Plus, I want to see Syd show y'all up. 

__

And just how is she going to do that?

Heh, heh. Wouldn't you like to know? Cough, cough — bybeingserious — cough, cough. 

Yes…Serious…Well, a friend of mine once gave me the best advice on dating — on life — that I've ever gotten. It applies to every decision, every thought, and every action involved in a relationship, even though you don't know it. It's so simple that you've most likely never thought of it before. If you boil down every single rule that you two have dictated, this is what it would be. Rule number seventeen (and probably the most important) is:

You can either be happy or you can be right.

Rocks your world, doesn't it? Most of the time, it's not that cut and dry, but it's a pretty damn good guide to life, let alone relationships.

See? I told you. She showed you up something terrible! This is what _real_ advice sounds like, not that fake crap that you were trying to pass off as a lame edition of a self-help book. 

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If it walks, talks, and acts like a duck—

Who brought up ducks? 

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No one! I'm just saying that our help was good, too. Maybe not as deep and profound as Syd's—

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But we're guys! What do you expect? I mean, we couldn't even afford security to keep you two out! Not that we wanted to…Oh God, she's going to kill me, isn't she?

Damn straight.

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Vaughn?! Mike! Michael! Help me! I _really_ don't want to die at the hands of your girlfriend!

__

You should have thought about that before you said what you did. Syd, let go of him; he didn't mean it…Well, at least go for the jugular and make it quick. If you hurry we can catch a late movie.

Sounds good to me. You're lucky to have a friend like Vaughn; if I were him, I would've let me kill you.

****

That didn't make sense.

__

Do you really want to provoke her? Take us out, Eric.

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Well, gentlemen, it seems that we have concluded our seminar…book…talk show…Aw hell, I don't even know what this is anymore! A little help here?

I gave up trying to figure you two men out pages ago. 

****

Yeah. Well, anyways, you are free to go. But seriously, keep our advice in mind; as crazy as it might have been at times, we had good intentions. And it's the thought that counts! In a relationship, as long as both of you are completely happy, what more is there? Nothing else matters.

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Doing everything she says couldn't hurt, either.

Michael, shut up.

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Yes, ma'am.

Good boy.

****

I think that just about wraps it up. Say, are you doing anything tonight…Becky?

No. Why? 

****

Well, they're going to the movies and they're going to need _someone_ to keep them in line and don't start "making breakfast". So…What do you say? Is it a date?

Only if we can sit behind them, tease Vaughn the entire time, and throw popcorn and Snowcaps at their heads when they start making out. 

****

Deal.

I'm there. 

Awesome. Let's go.

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So Syd, has Vaughn told you about his little 'problem' yet? 'Cause we could tell you everything and then some.

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Weiss!

Great. Here we go again. Should we break them apart or let them keep going at it? 

They look like squirrels.

Yeah, I guess. Too bad they're fighting over something you already know about. 

Vaughn's 'problem'? Yeah. Didn't you tell me about that last week?

Darn tootin'. But don't tell him that. I think it's common knowledge that we all will tease him about it 'til the day he dies; the less he knows about how we know, the more fun it is for us. 

Do you think they'll ever use those rules that you guys made up?

Probably not. 

We'll have to keep reminding them every day?

Twice a day, most likely. 

And they'll still act like guys even with years of training?

Yep. Just another hill to climb on the road to a perfect relationship. 

Bring it on.

*~*

**__**

TBC…Possibly…

If you ask nicely and give me suggestions, I might make this story a bit longer. [hint hint] Heh heh. Leave feedback! The purple button has a scratch that it wants you to itch. (Ew! Ah! I need to get my mind out of the gutter! Stupid Weiss. He's corrupted me.)

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:) Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


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